Appearances Are Deceptive
by Thoughtless4u
Summary: From all the talk I have to endure from you, ninety-nine percent is bullshit or at the very least highly exaggerated. That one percent left used to be enough for me. I can’t do it anymore." What to do without your best friend by your side?
1. Chapter 1: Duties for the win

**Here's a new story about our beloved Doctor House and his friends and employees. Sit back, enjoy and review! Please (smile). **

Chapter One: Duties for the win

The sun came crawling up from behind the horizon; the sunbeams were in no hurry to shine through the windows of the so many homes in New Jersey at 7 am on the beautiful Saturday morning it was going to be. Eyes were spreading open only to close with the same speed just as people turned around in their beds and snuggled under the quilts that covered up their bodies in the early springtime. The winter had been a cold one and the spring wouldn't be any different. The sunlight was a rare occasion at this time of year, but it couldn't manage to get the inhabitants from New Jersey to leave their cozy houses and do something active; it was just too early.

The sun also crept into the apartment of the famous Dr. House. The curtains were closed but still some shining came through and slowly illuminated the living room and bedroom of number 221B. But the light didn't wake House just as it had other people. Instead, the doctor was lying on his back with his eyes wide open. The sleep hadn't come last night. Even with half a bottle of scotch it had been an impossible mission to close his eyes and wander away to naked women and video games. The night had consisted of four letters, just like his life had been the last couple of years. Pain. It could stay in his thigh, or radiate to his lower limb or to his back with severe backache as a result. It had done all of that the last five hours he had been lying in his bed. He had tried to walk, make the pain a little less hard and constant, but even with the pacing the pain was almost unbearable. He had tried to sit, lie down, shower, eat, drink, pee, read but without any effect.

The ringing of the phone next to his head didn't make him move an inch. He let it ring until it finally rendered his voicemail: "_Hello, this is House. Yes, the famous, smart, funny and incredible sexy Doctor House. Congratulations, you finally found the number. Some instructions: If you are some dude who wants a signature or the secret to be just like me: fuck off. If you're a babe with a presentable couple of boobs and, wait, there is no 'and' necessary: please leave a message after the beep, call me Greg, the secret password is 'sex bomb'. If you are Wilson, Cuddy or one of my ducklings: the answer is NO." BEEEEEP. _

A small smile appeared on House's face just like every time he heard his voicemail; after some scotch it had just rolled out and he hadn't changed it since. The smile disappeared when he heard the message following. "_Very funny, House. You really did piss off the board by demolishing that fMRI machine yesterday. They were almost at the point of firing you, but I put in a good word for you, only God knows why. You owe me clinic hours, and not just some. I don't care what you're doing, just get your lazy ass out of your bed or from the couch you fell asleep on with your scotch and Vicodin, and get over here immediately. Eight full hours, 60 minutes each. If you're not here within 30 minutes, I'll come to your house personally and make you come. I'll throw your pills and scotch away, trash your piano, I don't care. We are short-staffed and you're coming. NOW." _

On any other day he would have deleted the message as soon as possible and waited for his boss to come, but today was different. He wasn't in the mood for a lecture about his behavior when she saw the way he looked right now. His hair was messed up like it hadn't been combed in a week, he lay on his bed fully dressed, both his living room and bedroom was full of trash, empty food boxes, clothes and shoes. The smell would probably make her retch, and she would call the psych wing within a minute to let them admit him there. No, he wasn't in the mood at all for that. With a deep sigh he lifted himself out of bed. It took him almost five minutes, with every stab of pain he had to stop. He grabbed his last clean set of clothes out of the closest and hoisted himself in them. After almost 30 minutes he closed the door behind him. He wavered when he switched his eyes from his motorcycle to his car. His leg was already protesting at the sight of his beloved orange bike and driving the car wouldn't be the safest option right now. He made up his mind and hailed a taxi that drove him to the entrance of the hospital. He paid the driver and walked through the front doors to be greeted with the loud screams of young children, nurses running with bandages, doctors who wrote down prescriptions to so-called scared adults and so on. He felt his leg aching even more at the sight of this chaos but there was no more escaping possible: the clicking of high heels became louder and louder and finally stopped in front of him. He put on his nicest voice;"Hello, boss. You look lovely again, no more need to cover them up at all don't you think?" He pointedly let his gaze rest on her half-open blouse.

Cuddy only let out a sigh. "You're late." She grabbed his wrist and turned it around so she could read the exact time from his watch, and to secretly hurt him a little. "It's 8:30. You were supposed to be here at eight. You won't leave until it's five o'clock."

House mock-pouted. "But, Mom, that's eight hours and 30 minutes."

Cuddy already turned around. "Eight hours of clinic duty and 30 minutes writing the reports. I will keep an eye on you. You won't sneak out on this one, I can assure you." With that she walked away and towards her office.

With a slow pace, House limped towards the nurse station. Nurse Brenda saw him approaching and threw a big pile of files onto the desk in front of him. "You don't have to be snippy at me, I can't help it your boyfriend is that bad in bed." Brenda shot him a death glare after his comment and continued her work.

When House turned around, he grabbed his right leg in agonizing pain. Brenda saw it happening and almost walked around the desk try to help him, but thought about his comment just seconds ago and let him be. Luckily for her, because House didn't want to be empathized, and he forced himself towards exam room one without too much leaning on his bad leg. Arriving, he threw the door closed behind him and dropped to the floor against it. He searched his jacket pockets only to find two empty orange bottles in them. "Damn it." At the moment he felt too proud to call his best buddy to write him a new prescription, and he still wasn't in the mood for a lecture. He also wasn't ready to tell Wilson his plan to cut back on his daily dose of the little white pills. The habit to grab the bottle with each little bit of pain had become stronger over the last months and his dose nowadays almost reached the overdose concentration. It wasn't rare anymore that he would sometimes lose consciousness for a moment or that he became disorientated, not to mention the constant urge to throw up. It would definitely cost him his job if someone found out, and he wasn't ready yet to rot away in some small apartment.

In the next five minutes he massaged his thigh as much as possible. He tried to get to his feet again, using every projection for support. With sweaty hands he filled a plastic cup with water and gulped it down in one motion. A knock on the door could be heard. With some trouble he reached the door and opened it, only to find Brenda standing in front of him with the files. The way she hit the files onto his chest came with such an unexpected force caused House to almost fall backwards. He grimaced slightly as Brenda slammed the door behind her. It was going to be a long day…

With a sigh he closed the door behind him. His last patient had been an ugly old man with an impotence problem. The guy was totally convinced that he had a tumor in his back that was pressing against his spinal cord, causing the impotence. When House had said he was just a grumpy old man with a weak penis, the humiliated man was ready to call his lawyer. The last thing House needed right now was a lawsuit so he tried to stay calm and convince the guy of the truth of his 'illness', but the immense pain creeping up his leg was making it impossible to be nice. After ten seconds of arguing he sent the guy away for a CT-scan of his spinal cord.

He let himself fall back on the bed in the middle of the exam room. Automatically he started rubbing his thigh. Seeing the clock, he let out a deep sigh. Only 12:30. He closed his eyes. It was strange, normally his stomach would have grunted like hell, but the only thing he felt right now was bile coming up when he considered paging Wilson to have lunch. He had fallen asleep for only a second when the door creaked open. A firm slam to the face with a certain brown file jolted him awake.

"What do you think you're doing?" Cuddy propped the file on his chest and put her hands to her side. House switched his eyes suspiciously from Cuddy to the file and back.

"I'm not sure, I think it had something to do with a certain topless Dean of Medicine and an exam room, but I guess I let the file out. Please tell me it's a patient with a _real_ disease who needs a _real_ diagnosis so I can escape from this clinic-prison. The only thing missing is the handcuffs, those would probably be too much fun."

"Why on earth did you send a 78-year-old man with impotence for a CT-scan of his spinal cord?' Cuddy expressed her displeasure with the situation by curling the corners of her mouth in such a way that she almost looked creepy. House pushed himself a bit up without too much movement but still flinched.

"He was threatening to call his lawyer, I thought your twins had already too much work to do convincing other people I'm as innocent as a newborn lamb." House looked at his boss playfully.

"He's poor, House; he doesn't even have money to buy a phone. I don't care what tricks you have up your sleeve to make me forget what you've just done. It's not helping; you will do this. Just stop bothering me and everyone around you and do your damn job." Even more furious than when she came in, she left him staring at her as she slammed the door shut behind her.

At 4:55 pm, House limped out of the exam room with a satisfied smile. There was no better way to end a miserable day in the clinic full of stuffy noses than with a 20-year old girl with belly pain and lacking a bra. He dropped the file on the desk of the nurse's station and found that another nurse had taken Brenda's place.

"It's 5 pm, Dr. House is going home." The nurse wrote it down when another voice spoke from behind Greg's back. "It's not 5 pm yet, House, and there's still one patient waiting for you in one. Go." House put up an annoying face.

'It really wasn't only my fault the fMRI machine just stopped. I may have been the last one who used it but I wasn't the only one. It was already overused and damaged. So why don't you ask one of the other doctors who used the stupid machine to work eight hours in a free clinic on a _Saturday_.' House made sure he stressed the last word.

"The machine was only six days old. You're going to pay it back down to the penny. We calculated that it would be 300 hours clinic, so you still have 292 hours left. Now go." House stared at her for a couple of seconds longer before finally grabbing the file from her hand with a sigh and hobbled towards the room. He didn't notice the guilty look Cuddy gave him when she saw his pronounced limp and the white fingers twisted around his cane. Before she could change her mind, she walked towards her office again.

In the room sat a guy who was about 25 but still had a face full of acne. House stared at him for a moment or two and eventually walked back towards the door. The boy jumped down from up the bed he was sitting on.

"Hey! Where are you going?" The kid looked at him in disbelief. House turned to face the guy.

"You have the flu. Go home, get some tea with honey, and rest. It will be over in a few days." House saw the look on his face turn from disbelief to utter shock. 'How..?'

"You're listless, you're having trouble swallowing, and your cheeks are flushed from a slight fever. Instead of staring at porn all day, spend a few minutes on WebMd, and trust me, your symptoms will check out. It's the flu. I'm going home."

"But…" House already had closed the door and grabbed his jacket and scarf again. The prospect of his comfy bed and his friend alcohol gave him strength enough to walk out of the hospital. He sat down on a bench to wait for the cab that would take him home. He was so distracted by the pain that he didn't hear someone approaching till that one sat down next to him. House was slightly startled when he directly looked into the big brown eyes of his friend Wilson. The latter looked at him with mixed expressions.

"What are you doing here? Where's your car? Why didn't you come to my office so we could lunch together? Did you eat anything at all?" All the words that reminded House of food made him even more nauseous than he already was.

"Jeez, Jimmy, I figured you'd miss me but you don't have to ask me everything at once. My car didn't start, so it's still at home, Cuddy wants me to starve to death because the clinic is more important to her, and I'm not hungry." Wilson looked puzzled but didn't go into discussion with him.

"Let me bring you home." Wilson had already stood and started for the parking lot. With difficulty, House managed to get up and hobble next to him. James noticed his abnormal gait.

"You're in more pain?"

House didn't look at him as he opened the car door. "I'm fine, okay? Just drive me home, will you." Wilson nodded and sat behind the steering wheel. He tried not to look at his friend too many times as he drove before stopping in front of House's door. Greg had already one leg out of the car when James grabbed his arm. House turned around and looked at him.

"Please tell me if there's something wrong. Let me help you. You can't all do this on your own, House."

He didn't turn away but his glare softened. "I already told you I'm fine. Go worry about your dog or something." With that he got out of the car and limped into his house. Wilson looked at him with sympathy and drove away with feeling of dread about the whole situation gathering in his chest.

When House had closed the door of his apartment, he immediately took off his coat and jumped on one leg towards the bathroom. He wanted to throw up but since there was nothing in his stomach, nothing came out. Droplets of sweat ran down his forehead whilst the chills crawled down his spine. _Oh, how I've missed these lovely withdrawal symptoms._

Fifteen minutes later he got up to his feet and dropped onto the couch. He reached for the closest bottle of scotch and took a swig. Even in his hazy state of mind, he could feel the pain sipping through and blocking every other thought. It hadn't been this bad in months. He tried to remember the last time he had felt this way but he couldn't come further than this morning. Suddenly he thrust away all notions of dying of side effects and went searching for his Vicodin. He trashed his apartment even more than it was now, but, cursing his noble impulse to throw away his "secret-secret stash" the day before, he found nothing. All at once he felt a wave of dizziness overtake him, and he was unable to keep his balance. Falling backwards to the floor, he hit the back of his skull on the knob of his closest. His world went black as he felt himself slipping into the unconscious world.

When he awoke, he wasn't immediately sure of his surroundings. Still a little dizzy and nursing a terrible headache as a bonus, he looked around and sighed in relief when he found out he was at his own home, alone. He hadn't turned on the lights when he came home and was now laying in complete darkness. A street light shone into the living room and he looked at his clock. _Damn it, 11 pm. I was out a pretty long time._ With care he searched the back of his head and found a big bump on it. _I must have hit something, hard. _He got up and stumbled towards the kitchen to dry swallow five aspirin. Making his way back to his bedroom, he dropped onto his bed, still fully dressed, and fell asleep the same moment his head hit the pillow.

It was still dark when House opened his eyes again. He cursed inwardly; he had hoped to sleep the whole night through, but the aspirin clearly didn't work as well as Vicodin. His leg was already hurting again, causing him to even curse more.

He felt his cell phone vibrating in his pants pocket. He turned over and searched his pocket to answer it.

"What?" His gravelly voice came out rude and rough. On the other end of the line, Cuddy tried to remain calm and to control her breathing.

"House, what are you doing, why didn't you pick up the phone?!" House, still groggy, didn't understand.

"Is it suddenly unapproved to sleep in the middle of the night?" He spat crankily.

"I must have called you at least a million times yesterday."

"I was in the clinic yesterday. I can't pick up the phone when I'm working. Hospital policy."

"House, the day before yesterday you worked in the clinic. It's 6 am Monday morning!" This got House's attention. _Did I sleep more than a day?!_

"You were supposed to work in the clinic yesterday."

"It was Sunday! Nobody works on Sundays! That's pure slavery! Wait… why didn't you come here then?"

"Because I called Wilson when you didn't pick up. He told me you weren't feeling well, and I believed him, but now I know I shouldn't have." House's mind started going into overdrive when he heard that Wilson stood up for him even if he hadn't told him anything.

"Now you are in serious trouble. And not only with me."

"Yeah, you can say that again, I just ordered a hooker and I have the distinct feeling I have to cancel on her again. Her pimp won't like that. Shit."

"Remember a guy named Kreager?"

"No."

"It's the guy I sent you to in exam room one Saturday. The guy with the flu."

"Ah, the charmer with the handsome face? Of course I remember him, why didn't you say that the first time?"

"He's back. He threw up blood. Your team has already been informed. Don't think I will forget the remained 292 hours of clinic duty. " _Click._

House was staring into space when Cuddy hung up the phone, trying to put the pieces of this new puzzle together.

_The guy was coughing up blood._


	2. Chapter 2: Differential Diagnosis,people

**Chapter two, more will follow soon. Please enjoy and review when you have a spare moment!**

Chapter Two: Differential Diagnosis, people

Completely lost in thought, House walked into the hospital and automatically stepped into the elevator. On his way there he tried to think about the diseases that could cause the symptoms of this Kreager guy but the pain and the lack of Vicodin had brought him no further than a ruptured tonsil. The elevator stopped, and House couldn't resist a small smile when he saw his ducklings already sitting straight up, tense in their chairs. _Even after three years they still think I can make their life less miserable. _He opened the glass door to his conference room and came in like he always did - with a bang.

"Well, hello, my little pests." He glanced at the files in the hands of Foreman, Chase and Cameron. "You probably already figured out what the guy has. Shoot." The three doctors stayed anxiously quiet. House penetrated his glare towards three pairs of eyes but got no response. Something was up. He kept his gaze locked on Cameron knowing she would be the first to crack. He opened his mouth to ask her what was going on, when he suddenly deduced the answer from her face. Normally she would look back at him or just simply kept busy with whatever she was doing before he came in, but now her eyes shifted between him and something behind him. When Cameron noticed House was still looking at her, she moved her eyes to the file in her hands again. Curious about what his duckling was looking at, House turned his head 180 degrees. The sight in front of him dazzled him. Not something but _someone_ kept their attention: Wilson was standing in the middle of House's office with his hands on his hips, looking directly at him; he was thoroughly pissed.

House turned back and tried to keep a straight face while he subtly swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Since when is it so strange the Head of Oncology from next door is standing in my office? He's not the one who is dying here, Mr. Vesuvius is." House walked up towards the whiteboard and wrote something down with the marker: _haemoptysis _(spitting blood).

"He's a smoker. Could be lung carcinoma." Chase was the first to recover, but not with the best opening move.

"He's 26, no way he has lung cancer, or he must have been smoking since he was six years old." House let out a theatrical sigh after Foreman's comment.

"At least someone uses his brain. Cameron?" The aforementioned immunologist looked up and started babbling about her specialty of course: auto-immune. House's thoughts strayed towards the window of his office again. Wilson still stood in the same position as the first time, but his face had become slightly less red. House tried to think of an escape plan but was shocked out of his trance when someone called his name.

"House! Did you hear anything I said?" Cameron had her arms crossed._ Beautiful. She's pissy Just what I need._ House pushed his mind back to his patient.

"Yeah yeah, auto-immune for the win right? Well, here's the big shocker: it's almost never auto- immune. Told you, you should have become an gynecologist."

"She's right House, it could be Wegener's." House switched his gaze from Cameron to Foreman. His mind starting working in overdrive. _Inflammation and infiltrations of the tractus respiratorius. Inflammation could cause high pressure of the lungs with its alveoli which could cause haemoptysis._ House snapped out of his diagnostic thoughts and nodded.

"Okay, get a biopsy. Chase said the most stupid diagnosis of the century, so he can't say anything anymore. Foreman, another suggestion?" Chase opened his mouth to protest House's argument but got interrupted by his colleague.

"Could be a regular pneumonia. Probably viral."

"Good, check his blood for viruses. And Chase, you are going to give his home a little visit. Now go. Head of Oncology, remember?" House reinforced his statement with a gesture of his free hand towards the door. His employees stood up and exited like he requested, leaving him alone in the conference room. House quickly glared towards his office only the see his friend still there. With a deep sigh he walked towards the door to his office and towards a probably fierce discussion. _Why did I pick the most moral guy of the whole universe to be my friend?_

--

Chase had slammed the file closed and stood to do what he was ordered to do by the biggest asshole on the planet. It still amazed him why the man could still live with those manners of his. When he saw the hatred spilling from the eyes of so many patients and their families when House 'visited' them only to scold at them for being so stupid, it seemed a miracle nobody had murdered him till now. Okay, nobody had _succeeded_ at murdering him. Not that he would die anyway; ill weeds grow apace, after all.  
While he was muttering to himself about how fucked up his life was, he was held up by the other mystery his head was filled with: Cameron. Did she like him? Did she like House? Is she just a smart woman with a dumb face or a dumb one with a smart face? If he would ever figure Allison Cameron out, he would become gay.

"Chase, wait!" He held his pace and turned around.

"What is it? Want to rub the fact in my face that I have to do the stupid job and you can do your damn biopsy?" Cameron was perplexed with the reaction of the doctor in front of her.

"You're not really offended by the way House treated you, are you? He's always like that, within an hour he will be mad at Foreman and after that he will make a comment about Cuddy's dresses while he makes a joke only Wilson understands, and I will fit into the picture too somehow. You know the drill." Chase had to admit, she was right, but he wasn't in the mood for it at all. He made an attempt to get away when she stopped him by holding his shoulder.

"What's wrong Robert? You're so different lately. You're grumpy, you show up late most of the time, you're not paying attention to what's said to you… you are short of diagnoses when we have a patient." After hearing her out, Chase released himself from Cameron's grip.

"You're not perfect either, you know. Just leave me be. Bye, _Allison._" He walked hard to avoid the continuous babbling of her. Of course he was different but she didn't need to know. No one did. It was best that they didn't. They didn't need to know that he… Almost running now he reached his car and drove towards his millionth break-in of his career.

--

When House limped into his office, Wilson didn't make a sound. Instead, he watched the crippled man in front of him as he moved to his chair slowly. He noticed the abnormal gait was still present and maybe even worse than Saturday. The sight softened his anger. When House finally dropped himself into the chair, he placed his elbows on the table and made an attempt to begin the conversation without looking into Wilson's eyes.

"So…You want to switch from the _L Word_ to _Sex and the City_ tonight?" _Goodbye, softness._ Wilson moved towards the other side of the desk in a second so that he now stood next to the chair House was sitting in. He turned him hard so they could face each other. The chair didn't make a nice turn but moved slightly to the right which resulted in a crash of House's right leg onto the table leg. A muffled scream followed.

"Son of a b… Was that necessary?!" House looked up but was surprised at the unrepentant look Wilson gave back. Instead of a sincere apology, Wilson shot back, "I'm _so_ sorry, why don't you take some Vicodin? Let me grab them for you." Wilson reached towards House's jacket pocket but was caught-off halfway by a firm grab.

"Stop it." Wilson pushed the hand away, which was a easy task today because House hadn't much strength at the moment. He moved along searching both pockets but surprisingly found neither bottles nor pills. His eyes grew wide.

"You stopped?!" When House didn't react but turned away, Wilson walked towards the empty chair and let himself drop onto it while letting the news sank in.

"I..I thought you were taking too much. I guess I'm wrong." With that, Wilson stood up and headed towards the door.

"What? That's it? No lecture about responsibilities, friendships, relations, addicts? Not even interested in my feelings?" Wilson didn't turn back but bowed his head while keeping the door handle in his hand.

"You won't tell me anything near the truth. You'll just pump my brain full of acerbic tales so that I can leave unworried, like I don't see through them. From all the talk I have to endure from you, ninety-nine percent is bullshit or at the very least highly exaggerated. That one percent left used to be enough for me. I can't do it anymore." Wilson did turn back now so House could see for himself that he was serious about this.

"You are the only focus, it's always about you. For years I ignored the comments about you being selfish and hard. I can see now those are all right."

"What?! You are only basing that stuff on the fact that I lessened my dosage without telling you? I don't want to bother you with it, is that so selfish?" House just couldn't get the point Wilson was making.

"You know just as well as I do that isn't the reason why you didn't tell me! It's only to avoid discussions that get too personal. Really, it's unbelievable; we talk about you all the time but it never gets personal. You're the only one who can realize that. I always ask about those things, but I never get a straight answer. You probably babble something about 'it's getting too expensive' or 'my grandma ate them' or some other crap. So why bother?" Silence followed. With a sigh, Wilson continued.

"You got one chance, House. Or you're going to tell me the truth or I'm out of here." House opened his mouth to speak. _Just say it! _His thoughts were so loud he was afraid Wilson would hear them. _He had to say it. Now. But it would ruin everything. Say it. Don't say it. Say it! Hmm, think think. Ah!_

"I didn't stop, I forgot to refill them and to put them in my pocket. You know how I am when I'm watching..you know.. channel 73." House rolled his eyes to underscore his fabrication. Wilson stared at him for a while and let out a couple of big sighs.

"I should have known. How stupid of me to think such noble things of you." Wilson gestured with his hand. "I had this little hope you really stopped but no. Just…" With another sigh he left the room and heading towards his own.

The door slammed shut. "Wilson!" House tried to stand up and walk after his friend, but when he stood up, the curtains closed around him and his world became black. _No, not now._ But nothing could be stopped. He dropped back onto his chair and left the conscious world again.

--

"House! House!" He jolted awake. He looked around to see where he was. In his office stood Foreman, with one eyebrow curled up.

"Were you asleep?" Instead of answering he searched for the time.

"How long have I been out.. asleep?"

"It's 3 pm." Foreman ignored the strange look House gave him and continued, handing a file over.

"Results were negative. The patient has no viral pneumonia." House browsed through the file.

"So much for the easy way out." When he didn't find anything interested in the file, he stood up.

"Call the others to come back."

"Wait! Where are you going?" Foreman didn't get an answer and had to watch House limping out of the office and out of sight. With a sigh he went searching for the others.

As much as his leg would cooperate, House walked through the whole hospital, pushing open almost every door he could see. Wilson was nowhere to be found. Not in his office, not in the lounge, not at his balcony, not in the ER, not at the parking space. He also didn't pick up his phone. Reluctantly he walked towards the only place he had been hiding through his hunt: Cuddy's office. He pushed open the first door and without knocking stormed into the room.

Even though Cuddy was used to this bursts, she still jumped a little in her too-large-chair when her favorite but also least favorite doctor suddenly stood in front of her.

"Good afternoon, Your Honor. Who'll you put behind bars for 10 years today?" Cuddy realized he was making a joke about her judge-like black blazer and skirt and underneath a white blouse. In the meanwhile, House had managed to sit down and locked his eyes on an object his hand was reaching. Cuddy grabbed the first thing she could find and hit the top of his hand with the stapler.

"Ouch!"

"You are pleading guilty! You will now be convicted to a life sentence of serving me and stop stealing stuff." This earned her a smile from House.

"Okay, I confess. Does that mean I need to follow you in your bed to serve you in all your needs?" Cuddy put on a disgusting face.

"Oh come on, I know you'll like it. Love it even." House eyes sparkled a little, a rare phenomenon Cuddy rarely saw him doing. Lately they even became non-existent. She snapped out of her thoughts.

"What are you doing her, House? You miss the clinic? Hmm, let's see, I can make you happy then because you still have 292 hours left there." An evil grin appeared on her face.

"I lost Wilson."

"So?"

"He's mad at me and I don't want to be sued when he jumps off a bridge with a note in his pocket which says I killed him."

"He will come around. What were you arguing about?" Cuddy tried to hide the curiosity by keeping her straight face.

"Well he said Dr. Bork looks gay, and I didn't like that, so I told him to shut his mouth and stop talking blasphemy and then he didn't want to play with me anymore and he left." With sad, big eyes, a pouted face and his hands folded upon his cane, he looked towards Cuddy. She in turn only smiled and shook her head.

"Buy him a candy bar then or something. If there's nothing else: leave before I lock you up in exam room one." House acted like he believed her and stumbled out of the chair. His leg couldn't handle the weight that was on it again and bended down deep while taking the rest of House with it. Cuddy ran around her desk and kneeled down next to House who was now lying in a strange position.

"Are you okay?" She helped him up and put him down onto the couch in her office.

"I'm fine. Tripped over the carpet or something." He immediately started rubbing his thigh while avoiding eye contact with Cuddy. She placed her hand on top of his busy hand which made him turn around and looking at her.

"Okay." Both knew she didn't believe a crap of the excuse House had just told her but they were both too comfortable in their position that neither wanted to end the moment and start fighting again. They realized their faces were only inches apart but their thoughts were harshly interrupted by the door being pushed open. They turned their heads towards the intruder.

"Our patient coded."


	3. Chapter 3: Happiness is a sad word

**Finally, chapter three of my story about House, Wilson, Cuddy and the old team. I am hoping you like it. The progress will go faster now: chapter four and five are soon to come. Enjoy and, of course, review whenever you like!**

Chapter Three: Happiness is a sad word

_Not much later…_

"House?" Cameron was the first who tried to approach her boss. Foreman, Chase, Cameron and Cuddy were looking from the far end of the table to House, who was sitting at the other end, completely introverted. His eyes were fixed on the red coffee mug in front of him. His right hand was unconsciously rubbing his thigh while his left hand played with his bottom lip. For ten minutes he was lost in his own thoughts, not caring or noticing his surroundings. Foreman dropped the file in his hand hard on the table, on the one hand trying to get a reaction from House and on the other hand because he was getting tired of the behavior of the man. When House didn't move, he stood up and walked past House on his way to the exit.

"Got more important things to do?" Foreman got one leg out of the office when House started to speak again. He turned around and directly looked into House's demanding, almost angry eyes.

"Well?" The famous doctor spoke again when he didn't get an answer straight away. However, Foreman wasn't going to give up easily.

"Nobody's saying anything, it is useless to be here. I'm going to check on the patient." He didn't immediately turn away because everybody knew House would give one hell of an answer back, but none of them were expecting his real reaction.

"You sit down and give me a diagnosis." Only Foreman could see the gravity in the way he said it. His eyes were bluer than usual with an ice-cold glare in them, the wrinkles on his forehead more pronounced. His right hand was still moving back and forth on his leg, the coffee in front of him already cold and tasteless. When Foreman still didn't make a move, House got even more cranky.

"You think I'm paying you to check on an intubated patient who is playing dead and dumb in bed and who has three nurses running around changing his diapers because he can't control his rectum sphincter? Sit down and do what you're paid to do. Now." Foreman saw he was not going to win this discussion and also knew deep down House was right so he walked back to his chair. House followed him and kept his glare on the four people in front of him. He finally moved forward and placed his arms on the table while his stare fixed itself on Chase.

"What did you find in his apartment?"

"Literally nothing. No food, plants, pets, woolen carpets, dirty dishes or what so ever, only a couple bottles of water. It looked very clean. Also nothing weird in the neighborhood. If it is something environmental, it's definitely not from that place." The office became quiet again when House didn't answer back. Cuddy proved she didn't come for nothing and continued.

"What was the result of the biopsy, dr. Cameron?" The worried eyes of the mentioned whom were locked on her boss in front of her, turned away and were now searching for Cuddy's eyes.

"c-ANCA and anti-PR3 antibodies were negative. No Wegener's." Almost in unison, all let out a sigh including House. The last mentioned dropped his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

"And no viral pneumonia either." This comment of Foreman didn't exactly increase the positive sphere in the room.

"Who was with him when he coded?" Cuddy tried to fill in the silence and to get through what they were missing.

Cameron raised her hand. "I had brought him back to his room after the biopsy, he was fine the whole time, we talked a bit and I said goodbye. When I was filling in a chart at the nurses' station, I heard him coding. When I tried to intubate him, his throat was severely swollen. I almost didn't get the tube in.

"If you're traumatized, you can get down a floor and make an appointment with one of the too many useless shrinks here." It's was now Cameron's turn to take the beat from House. Cameron looked affronted towards House but he didn't return her gaze. Instead, he raised out of his chair slowly and with difficulty and shambled towards the white board without lifting his right leg up too much. He was not the kind of guy to let the pain show to others so obviously, but it was too much of an effort at the moment to fake a healthy leg. The blow from Wilson and the accident in front of Cuddy increased the pain from horrible to unbearable. Every second, his right leg acknowledged him of the fact he missed a great deal of his muscle and treated with taking measures when he would get in his head to walk. The massage he was giving it wasn't helping, not that it ever helped anyway. The long for a couple of pills was irresistible but the thought of lying dead on the floor with the froth ran down his mouth made the effort worth the while, at least for now. He had impressed himself on the fact it wouldn't take long before these withdrawals symptoms would lessen. When he was in search for Wilson not long ago he had made a stop at the pharmacy and ordered Vicodin so he could continue with his lonely lie a little longer; for the people around him he had just forgotten the pills today. He had thought about it to involve them, but it was for the best of himself and them that he did the rehab by himself. The nausea, vomiting, sweating, insomnia, tremors, the pain… he was not going to embarrass himself in front of them. So he got the pills and 'concealed' them in his trashcan. He only hoped the worst symptoms were gone when he would begin feeling alone.

His whole cascade of thoughts made him unaware of his position in front of the white board with a marker in his hand but without writing. "House!" With shock he turned around and saw Cuddy standing dangerously close to him.

"What are you thinking?! You were totally lost! Do I have to put someone else on the case?" House shook his thoughts away and concentrated on the board again.

"Differential, please." His ducklings and the ignored Cuddy looked at the board and saw he had written down '_edema_' on the board underneath haemoptysis. All of them started to think.

"Could be kidney failure. Excreting fluid is disturbed, which cause a accumulation of fluid in his body. Maybe it has already reached his lungs and larynx without anyone noticing it." House nodded approvingly after Foreman's comment.

"Atypical course, but could be. It's all we got now. Check his blood and urine for creatinine and proteins and make a MRI to see if we're missing a three-feet kidney. Anyone else?"

"Medication." Chase liked plain and simple and his answers hinted this attitude most of the time. House thought about his suggestion. Of course, it was stupid and non-thinking crap, but he could have a point this time.

"Okay, go call around, see if he has a file somewhere. Maybe something interesting pops up. That's it?"

The room staid quiet. House clicked the marker close and keep staring at it while he spoke up.

"Cameron, you can do an allergy test."

"What? Why?" Meanwhile House had made it till the door to his private office when he stopped before pushing it open. He turned back, apparently a little annoyed by the stupid question.

"Well I don't know, to check for allergies, _maybe?_ It's not a rare phenomenon people get allergic of, _for example, _looking at your annoying and useless self-sacrificing face. House limped into his quiet space with an for the second time affronted Cameron five feet away.

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"I want to speak with Dr. House." Cuddy looked up from her file she was reading in and saw a woman around 30 years standing in front of her in her office. While lying down her pen she smiled politely and was ready for a terrible scenario concerning her _most social_ employee.

"May I ask who you are, ma'am? And why does Dr. House have the honor to be the person you want to talk to?" _Honor, my ass._

"I'm Ms. Kreager, wife of Christian Kreager. Dr. House is treating my husband. I want to know why those other doctors do all those tests on him but don't treat them. Give him medicine or something. Anything. " Cuddy saw the woman's eyes filling with tears. She stood up and walked towards her.

"I can assure you Dr. House is working hard on your husband's case, but it's not easy to find the right cause. Giving medicine at random is very dangerous and won't help." She put a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Dr. House is the best there is for your husband."

"But why is he nowhere to be found then?! How can he treat someone without visiting him and asking questions?! Where is his office? I want to talk to him." Her eyes showed angry and sadness at the same time. As fast as possible, Cuddy tried to find a way out of this discussion she was having for the millionth time with a patient of House. Every time again she became inwardly mad at him for treating his patients like crap, letting them through all kinds of unnecessary procedures. She thought of the possibility to just tell this woman the truth, that Dr. House is a worthless doctor and human being for most of the time and hates all human life and a visit of him would be the worst nightmare for those people, but she just couldn't. Her mind drifted off to the moment in her office not long ago, when they were looking at each other with so much common grounds, the same thoughts, so much years of working together and the pain he suffered and still does. In a split second she made up her mind.

"He thinks in an extraordinary way, in silence. He will visit you husband soon, I'll make sure of that." With a fake smile Cuddy succeeded in convincing Ms. Kreager. The latter slowly nodded and walked out of the office. Cuddy walked back to her desk and tried to concentrate on her work again, but her mind couldn't get House out of it. She had seen that during the differential diagnosis he had acted strange and was abnormal rude to everybody. His face had a painful and dark expression over it, more than usual. Together with the situation with this guy Kreager and the fact she wouldn't work till she figured out what was bothering him, she persuaded herself to go see him.

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"Knock, knock." Cuddy stuck her head through the small jar she made with the glass door to House's private office. The lamellas were closed and her eyes needed to get used to the dark room before she could distinguish House from the other objects around him. He was sitting in his chair, his upper body curved while his arms were resting on his legs. He hadn't made a move since she spoke and was observing him. She quietly walked into the room and closed the door behind her. She didn't hear a sound from her left side so she concluded Foreman, Chase en Cameron weren't in the room next door. When she moved closer to him, he still didn't move an inch or made a sound. She kneeled in front of him and noticed the orange bottle full of pills in his hands. She touched his arm slightly and looked up at him.

"Hey." Her whisper made his stare shift from the bottle in his hands towards her. The dark expression his eyes held a couple of hours ago had fade away and made room for a strange one, almost like he was afraid of something.

"How are you? You're having a headache?" House seemed awakened by her words en straightened his back and answered with a low voice.

"A little. Needed some rest."

"Why don't you go home? It's almost 7 pm, take a shower, some sleep will do you good as well."

"I'm okay. I stay." The voice recovered his normal sound again just like his normal look. Cuddy saw he really looked worn out. His arm, which she still held, felt clammy and his eyes were as small as dots. He was jerking with his leg, which also was a sign he definitely didn't feel fine.

"You look like shit. Go home."

"No." The answer didn't exactly surprise her, but the hard way it sounded did.

"Why can't you just listen for once? You think I'm doing this to terrorize you?"

"No."

"Go home. I'm not paying you for these hours anyway."

"Like I care." _He really doesn't care_. Cuddy noticed his behavior was getting more stoic with every minute. She needed to know. Needed to try.

"What's wrong with you?" He looked up at her.

"Why can't you just go worry about dying children instead of annoying me?" His voice became harsh again, the usual sound of irony in it completely gone.

"I care about you." _More than you think. _It was for the best of both of them to keep that thought for herself.

"I don't care about you! Why do you keep watching me with every step I make?!" Anger boiled up inside Cuddy.

"Because you can't take care of yourself, House! Look at you! You drive everyone away, you keep popping pills, you ruin so much around you. You only have yourself. That's not enough, House. One is never enough. You push everyone away, including Wilson. Why do you keep doing that? You're not perfect, House." She expected him to burst, but he remained in his seat and looked at her the same way he had looked to Foreman not so long ago.

"You're the one who's fucked up here, Cuddy. You can't have a baby so you found a replacement in babysitting me. Just get the hell out before I make you." Tears welt up in Cuddy's eyes but there was no way back now, she didn't start this to just step out in the middle.

"I'm not leaving before you tell me what the hell is going on." Suddenly she felt a hand hitting her cheek hard. She could barely keep her balance when she recovered from House's sweaty palm. When she looked up she saw the bitterness in his eyes hadn't decreased, his head wasn't sending messages of regret. With tears running down her cheeks, she stood up from up her knees and walked out of the office and out of House's sight.

Maybe for good.


	4. Chapter 4: Never Comes When You Want It

**The next chapter.. please enjoy and review please! I know I've been too long gone with this story, but I promise you I will update faster. **

Chapter Four: The End… Never Comes When You Want It

He knew what he was doing when his hand let go of the bottle and raised in the air. He knew what he had done when his rough, old hand with small, large fingers touched her perfect cheek, which send out her everlasting youth, her understanding of make-up. He knew his expression hadn't give away guilt because the pain had won over the shock of his move. But after she had left, the shock came and it had brought guilt, shame and every other similar emotion with it. His eyes were locked on his hands, the orange bottle had fallen on the floor in the process. He looked at his hands in disgust with the feeling those had just murdered someone. It definitely felt that way. He had no right to hit anyone, least of all her. She was pure perfection. Smart, ironic, sexy, strong, witty, rich. These hands had destroyed that perfection within one second. House thought back about the moment his Dad had hit him for the first time.

_When he was six years old, his father had let come some friends over __to play cards and watch TV while his mum was staying at her parents' place because her mother had fallen of the stairs. His father didn't want him to talk about the night when his mum would return later, so he had put him into his room and had said he would get a present when he stayed at his room that night. Gregory wasn't interested in presents at all, but he had agreed. His plan had be to eavesdrop the conversations through the door. That way he would get his present and he also knew what they were talking about that was probably so important he wasn't allowed to hear it (now he realized it must have been about sex and beer, but he couldn't think of something like that at that age). So he sat quiet at his bureau, making his homework for the second time because he had already done everything he had to do for tomorrow. After twenty minutes he grabbed a glass of his table and put it on the other side of the door. He didn't notice right away his door wasn't completely closed and it opened a little when the glass touched it. He heard a couch angrily be pushed back and big steps came towards his room. With a speed he had never reached before, he ran back to his bureau, put the glass on it again and pretended he was working. The door was pushed open with a big force and slammed shut with the same force. With acted surprise, Gregory turned around and looked into the reddened face of his father. With one big step he was standing right in front of him and he yelled something about eavesdropping him and breaking the deal. Gregory didn't understand completely and wasn't prepared when his father's hand hit his cheek hard. Gregory tumbled aside, falling on his bed with the move. He was in such a state of shock he turned around instead of keeping his hands in front of his face preventing it from being hit again. Before he realized his mistake it had already been too late. Another hand hit his other cheek, and another one, and another one. When his father was finally finished, he kneeled down and grabbed Gregory's chin and said it was his own fault, he had this coming when he started eavesdropping. He tolerated no excuses, nor would he in the future. It had only been a warning for the next time Gregory would do something he didn't like. After that he walked out of the room and locked it from the outside. Not one of the guests had said anything. Gregory cried that first time, because of the pain his father had caused on his face, but also what latter would be translated as emotional pain. He didn't understand it back then. After the years past, he came to understand it more and more. Only after a couple of years he understood he didn't do things wrong every time his father came towards his room. Most of the time he didn't actually. But he wouldn't say anything of it. He adapted to it, hid the pain from everybody. It was the only way to make the pain bearable. The physical pain, but also the emotional pain. _

His thoughts dropped back to the present. The present wasn't any better than the past. He wasn't anything better than his father. His father whom had hurt him so much with his fists. But the most pain came from the acting like everything was fine. House turned his gaze away from his hands, not bearing the sight of them any longer at the moment. There was no way back now. He had reached the lowest of the lowest he never thought he could get. The worst kind of people. Why would he bother any longer? Wilson was mad at him because he lied to him, he had humiliated and pained Cuddy.. he had no reason to be here any longer.

House reached down to grab the bottle full of Vicodin and stood up which caused a terrible pain in his leg. He continued anyway and walked out of his office, not even bothering to grab his coat or cane along the way. He stumbled towards the exit doors of the hospital, trying to hide from everybody by looking at the floor the whole way down from the elevator. He knew people were watching. Nurses, patients, visitors. But he didn't care. Not anymore. When he finally was outside, he grabbed his cell phone and called for a cab who picked him up and brought him home.

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It was an absolute miracle that he didn't get his share of abuse of House when he saw the way House handled his other two employees, Cameron and Foreman. Everyone of them was used to at least one comment a session, but he stayed out of the picture this time. It felt almost like a compliment. Chase watched himself in one of the glass doors that led to a patients room. He straightened his white coat and put a smug smile on his face. _He didn't make a comment. _He made another pose and watched his image on the door again until he finally realized the patient and his family in the room with the glass doors were looking on him in amazement. With a blushed face he made a hurried exit. He found a space for himself with a computer and logged on in the hospital system to find a way to get in contact with other doctors which their patient could have visited in the area. He knew it was a wide guess and he also knew that it would take a tremendous amount of time but it was worth it. It was worth it to be away from everyone and to finally be by himself. All the rush didn't make him feel better and House's cranky behavior also didn't make his mood more like usual. Cameron already figured out he was wrestling with something and soon more people would find out. And of course, when House finally decided he himself wasn't the most important human being on the planet for a second and would glance at him for a fraction, he would immediately see through him and his 'unusualness'. If House would find out, he could just as easily kill himself right now. House would follow him every step of the way and torture him with 'hero' and all the other sarcastic synonyms he could find. No, definitely no good idea. Instead of thinking about it any longer, he focused on the computer screen and began searching for clues to cure their patient.

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After almost four hours of searching the computer, not one name that connected to their patient had popped up. Chase thought he had grown squared eyes by looking at a computer screen for this long and started to wonder how on earth all those addicted nerds could play pc-games for days without a single break and he suddenly almost envied them. He stretched his back and heard his stomach grumbling. He decided it was time for a break and stood up to go to the cafeteria. He walked around so he didn't need to go past House's office and so he could get some exercise. After his 'workout' he reached his destination and moved to the snack department of the cafeteria. While thinking about what to choose, the chocolate cake with citron filling or the applecrumb-pie, he saw Cameron and Foreman sitting at a table at the far end of the cafeteria. He quickly decided to take both choices, paid for them and walked towards his colleagues. While approaching them, he saw the devastated looks on both faces and knew almost instantly he wasn't the only one without a result yet. He sat down on the empty chair between Cameron and Foreman.

"No luck either, he?" Cameron let out a sigh.

"The allergy test was negative. Apparently the guy isn't allergic to me." Chase smiled a bit and gave her one of the extra plastic forks he brought with him. Cameron gracefully accepted it a planted the fork in the chocolate cake and began eating. Meanwhile, Chase looked at Foreman with anticipation.

"Our patient doesn't have kidney failure, I guess?" Foreman looked a bit annoyed.

"No, he doesn't. Do you know since when there's a policy that they only check for the blood levels you put down on the form?" Chase looked back and give a shrug.

"I didn't know."

"Well, normally those lab rats check all the kidney parameters when you mark creatinin. But instead, I get this back." He shoved a piece of paper towards his male colleague. Chase looked at it and indeed saw that the only results they got back was the level of creatinin and the corresponding GFR level: 98 μmol/L and an estimate of 100 ml/min GFR. No increase thus. Chase sighed.

"Why the hell won't they do the rest of the parameters anymore?!"

"Apparently because there're cutbacks and they only determine proteins and other parameters when there're valid reasons to determine them, i.e. when you have a reasonable diagnosis. And well, we don't, _ever_, do we?"

"And what about the MRI?"

"Kidneys looked fine." Foreman sighed heavily and grabbed Chase's fork off his plate and took a large bite of the applecrumb-pie. Chase stared at his plate and saw with his mouth hanging open how the two people ate his delicious snacks in front of him. With a deep sigh he stood up and headed back to the snacks to get another one.

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Wilson grabbed his phone and searched for missed calls. He didn't have one. His fight with House wasn't even two days ago and House already had given up calling him. He knew he shouldn't be surprised, he knew how stubborn House is but still he felt even worse than he already did by it. He sighed, dropped the pencil he was holding in his left hand and leaned backwards. He really didn't saw this huge fight with his friend coming. Everything was doing okay lately, Wilson even had the feeling House was less cranky than usual. He made more playful jokes, smiled from time to time and limped less than normally. He had almost acted normal. Wilson hadn't made a comment about it then, because he didn't want to ruin the reason for his abnormal good behavior, but he regretted that move now. If he had asked about it then, he would have also known why it suddenly turned 180 degrees into a abnormal _bad_ behavior. His jokes were rare, the look on his face was a somewhat killer look and he looked at the floor most of the time, like he didn't want to face anyone because he was afraid someone would find out what his problem was. He didn't even scold at nurses who did stupid things or other doctors who didn't find the diagnosis he did discover. He was just quiet, trying to mask everything he was thinking. Wilson also discovered the small steps House took lately and how his leg almost sagged with every step he took. James also hadn't made a comment about this strange behavior, and regretted it even more. He thought it was just temporary, just like his good days were temporary. At the end, House would always roll back into his 'normal' behavior after a while like nothing ever happened. But this rolling back didn't occur fast enough in Wilsons eyes, and Wilson gave up on him. He gave up too soon, he knew nos. He was the only one who would get through to him, to stand by him when he was in trouble. But now he had his behavior brought up and there was no turning back. He, for a moment, thought House quit using Vicodin but nothing resembling was true. He hadn't stop, and Wilson was too stupid to even think such thing. He had become angry and walked away from it, preaching about never coming back. Wilson had been too self-conscious to hammer about the real reason behind House his behavior and just left. Now, it was too late. He didn't wanted contact with him, he needed to solve it by himself for once. James would only look weak if he already answered his phone. The anger about the fight had lowered down a bit after two days, but he wasn't able to surrender yet. House would only continue with doing what he always does and soon he would be insufferable. He sighed again and tried to concentrate on his work when there was a knock on the door. _Here we go, he probably insulted someone already. _He prepared for what's to come and said it was okay to come in.

He only looked up from his paperwork when the one entering his office sat in the chair in front of him. His eyes grew wide when he saw Cuddy with a red, swollen right cheek.

"What.. How.. Who..What Happened?" Wilson was so astonished that he couldn't find the right words. Cuddy looked down with a hurt face.

"I've got no one else. I don't know who to tell. I don't know how. I don't know what to do." The tears already started to form. Wilson wanted to reached towards her but saw she fearfully jolted back when he touched her hand. Wilsons shock only became worse.

"Did someone… did this to you?" Cuddy nodded slowly. Wilson stood up and walked around the desk to kneel down next to Cuddy.

"Who did, Lisa? You have to tell me. A patient, stranger, someone we know?" Cuddy began to shake a little but didn't respond. Wilson took her in an embrace slowly and felt Cuddy was giving in and was now softly crying against his chest.

"Greg." Wilsons eyes grew wide.

"Greg? Which Greg? The oversized guard Greg Grunberg in front of the hospital?"

"No." Wilson moved Cuddy away from him and grabbed her shoulders while trying to get her attention.

"Who did it then, Lisa? Tell me, please." Suddenly, Cuddy stopped crying and a bit of anger was evident in her eyes. She reached her head and looked straight into Wilsons eyes. She knew it was unbearable for him if he knew, but he was indeed the only one she could go to. She knew if she'd tell, he would have no one left, he would be alone in this world, his life would probably even worse. But if she didn't tell, he could get away with it. He could continue with everything he did. It had been the last drop. She needed to prevent everyone from getting hurt by him. Hurt, just like her. Her eyes went blank when she opened her mouth.

"It was Greg House. House hit me."


End file.
